


Girl With One Eye

by bugbites



Category: RWBY
Genre: Abuse, Character Death, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Non-Consensual Touching, Physical Abuse, Rape, Rape Fantasy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Content, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Torture, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2019-10-31 11:27:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17848568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bugbites/pseuds/bugbites
Summary: She told me not to step on the cracksI told her not to fuss and relaxPretty little face stopped me in my tracksBut now she sleeps with one eye openThat's the price she'll pay





	1. Shelter

**Author's Note:**

> Experimental trash ship crap. Take care of yourselves and all.

It hadn't been too long since they'd first met, one could say. Long enough for their plan to succeed, sure, but not long enough for him to know much about her other than her name and what the rumors mentioned about her being stubborn and cold. Well, he counted on those to be true tonight as he stood above her in a dimly lit room - though it was somewhat more of a cell for her, he would imagine. The white-haired girl simply lay below him, unconscious for the time being.

He wasn't there when they brought her in. In fact it was really just by chance that he found her here, arms tied up tight behind her back. A perfect opportunity. One he just couldn't pass up tonight. That girl - what was her name... Ruby? He'd fought her hard tonight. Of course he'd won, he never even came close to doubting that much. He just wasn't expecting to kill the girl so quickly. Don't misunderstand, of course it felt so good he wanted to taste it again and again. But not here. He could kill the others when they were found. He couldn't do that to this one. He had bigger and better plans for this one. In fact...

It wasn't until she accidentally twitched her leg that he realized she had woken up. A wicked grin made his eyes glow, hungry in the dark like a wolf. He sure felt like one right now. His eyes couldn't help but wander her figure, stopping to admire what he could see of her legs. Looked nice and soft.

"Good morning, princess."

"What's... Where am..." the girl couldn't even finish a sentence properly. Not awake enough yet. He needed her to wake up faster.

"Shh, shh... Aw, you must be so tired," he cooed, taking a few steps closer to the shanty little bed she was stuck on. Unless she rolled over. He'd like it if she rolled over.

She'd be able to tell in no time really.

He felt so lucky. He got the one that's full of pride and defiance. She'd be a fun one to break, he could tell. Only she wouldn't ever truly break, and that was the best part. He could toy with her forever and it wouldn't ever get old. He'd have to be sure to get permission, but... He could manage. She was going to be his one way or another.

The look on her face was just priceless. A mix of fear and curiosity, her eyes trying to analyze his features for any sort of clue as to why he was there. He made sure he gave none from the start, no problem. He knew all too well how to do that much.

"I was just dropping by," he smiled and stopped to sit at the side of her bed, scooting closer to her back. "See, there's something I want in here."

"Something you...?" She didn't get to finish her sentence before she was on her back, trying her best not to put her weight on her arms.

He smirked. She'd know soon enough, if she really couldn't tell. Truth be told he was already starting to get a little turned on just seeing her like this. All tied up just begging for him to... Not yet. He had to be patient. He had to be.

Oh to hell with it.

He quickly moved to straddle the fragile girl, pinning her in place with his arm, stroking his free hand down her nice warm neck. It sent a shiver down his spine to hear her whine in protest.

"What are you-"

Her words were interrupted by a hard, rough kiss. It was so much sweeter than he could've hoped for, really. He pulled away, eager to see the look on her face. Frightened and confused. Perfect.

"Taking what I want."

 He started out pushing himself against her uncomfortably, running his fingers over her soft thighs, slowly moving his way up. Staring at her chest, he moved down to nip at her neck, kissing it just as hard. Hearing her whimper just served to make him feel even more powerful.

"You should know," he laughed under his breath, "You have no idea how hard I am right now."

He pushed her skirt up with his hand, running a thumb over her thigh dangerously close before moving back and harshly squeezing her ass, earning him a not-so-quiet cry. Wait... Oh, she was actually crying. Even better.

"Don't worry," he was absolutely beaming. "It won't hurt... Not if you're a good girl and behave for me."

Her face flushed with shame at having him so blatantly groping around at her, tears streaming down her cheeks and little whines escaping her lips as he did what he liked. And she could definitely tell he liked it now.

Her silence was met with him moving in to lick one of the tears as it fell, planting a small kiss where it was before grabbing hold of her neck and applying just enough pressure to have her nearly gasping.

"Answer me, bitch."

It took her a minute or two, but she came around. Of course she did. How could anyone not want him? He didn't care if she did or not. He wanted her. And he hoped she would choose to do things the hard way. More fun for him.

"Y-y...es... s...ir..."

Barely able to breathe and practically drowning in her own tears. Oh, God he loved to see it. It was nearly enough to do him in then and there, but the fun hadn't even started yet. He couldn't get carried away just yet.

He praised her quietly, moving a hand up to fondle her breasts as his neck kisses turned into bites, his fingers finding their way under what remained of her dress and playing with her mercilessly.

Focusing on his hard bites, she panicked at the sound of him undoing his pants and felt him break skin. A small shriek, muffled by another rough kiss. This time it tasted like blood. She let out an unsettled cry when she felt him push her skirts up and press himself against her. This couldn't be happening.

"Tsk... Bad girl. I told you to behave."

He wasted no time entering her, just as rough as he'd already been treating her. Now came the fun part. If she was already crying he could only imagine how she'd be when she hit the breaking point of the night.

She let out her first scream when he started to thrust, his pace quick and brutally hard. He gave her no time to adjust and laughed as she squirmed and struggled beneath him. He grunted against the curve of her neck and bit down once again where he'd broken her fragile skin. 

"Please...! Please stop!" Her begging made him feel more wild, only giving her more and more until her pleas turned to shallow gasps and loud whines. He moaned loudly into her ear to taunt her. He wasn't done just yet and he was going to milk the situation as much as he could.

"Tell me you like it. Admit it, slut."

She just keeps crying.

"Now, whore! Beg for it!"

"I... hah... Pl...ease... F-fuck... me..." Her sentence was punctuated by a loud yelp and an incredibly hard thrust.

He was slowing down dramatically. Grunting, panting and groaning against her until... Oh no. He wasn't going to...?

And then she felt it. A warm sensation, him forcing himself in and out of her just a little longer. Just a little more. And then he suddenly pulled out of her, leaving behind a mess he absolutely loved to see. It looked good on her. He readjusted himself, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her closer.

"Go on, lick it clean."

Feeling nothing but humiliation, she complied. He was the worst and she just wanted this to be over with.

In one swift movement he shoved himself to the back of her throat and pulled back again, leaving her gagging and coughing.

He smirked. This was fun. This was too much fun. In fact...

"We're gonna have a really good time together, pet."


	2. Moonlight

Dirt had accumulated here and there by now, marking the passage of the time between when she had arrived in this prison and now, when she lay on the cold ground, staring into the dark cracks in the walls. Empty. She was always empty. He's made sure of that.

There hasn't been a moment where she's felt that she could breathe without him telling her to do so. He rules with an iron fist, as they say.

At the beginning, she hadn't thought twice about disobeying him, squirming and struggling to get as much distance between them as possible whenever possible. He didn't like that. When he didn't like something, he got angry.

And he was scary when he was angry.

He wasn't afraid to throw a punch. In fact, he did so quite often.

Refusal to do something?

A punch to the gut.

Didn't respond quick enough?

A kick to the ribs.

There were no slaps on the wrist, not even from the beginning. He wanted her to get used to this new reality she found herself in fast.

"See, princess," he'd said, "I don't care about you, not one bit. As far as we're concerned? You're my toy. And I get to play with you whenever and however I feel like, you understand?"

Of course, Weiss wasn't one to accept this without a fight. So she fought, every order, every punishment, every gift... She wanted him to know she would never accept that he was her... owner, as he had told her.

How she had gotten here didn't matter. She was here, there was no changing that.

Here in a dark cell in a basement, damp and old, yet tailored just for her. The bed was stained with rust red blood and the red, velvet sheets had been pulled from the corner, simply never put back. He was sloppy, she had noticed. She always had to clean up whenever he came to pay her a visit.

An unwelcome guest, always.

Today he brought her food. An occasion that only happens once every other day, she is learning. He's keeping her weak, just in case, she figures. She can't hide her gratitude.

"You must be hungry," he practically sings, taking in her pained expression and the growls from her stomach.

She doesn't dare to say anything until he tells her to. The results were simply too unpredictable. One day it was a punch to the face, one day it was no food, another it was another round of... well, she didn't like to think about that part.

But he did.

She's distracted by her thoughts, he's getting impatient.

"You want this?"

She freezes for just a moment too long. She doesn't know what he's talking about exactly. One would think it would be the food, of course, it would only make sense.

Except for him it was a game. Nothing is ever as it seems, and she's guessed wrong with a "yes" today.

He sets her meal off to the side and joins her in her prison. She doesn't try for the exit, she's done that before. He always grabs her by her hair and takes her down. He beats her. And then...

Stop.

Maybe it won't be like that this time, there's always that hope.

"You'll have to bear with me," he snickers, gripping her wrist hard, "I've been training all day. Might not be as gentle as yesterday."

Yesterday. Yesterday wasn't gentle, she thought. He was never gentle. Not with her.

He suddenly shoves her against the cold, stone wall, quickly pinning her back tight against it with one leg separating her thighs.

And he's off. Whispering in her ear about how dirty she is for letting him touch her again. Calling her a whore again. Telling her she belongs to him. She refuses to believe.

Maybe she does, just a little.

No, never.

She's trying to escape what her eyes are telling her. He's already pulling the fabric of her dress away from her skin. Already groping and pinching and squeezing.

She can't keep a whine down. He doesn't like that.

"Shut the fuck up," he snaps and suddenly her cheek stings and burns. He's struck her again.

She's holding her breath as he goes further and further, pulling the fabric over her head and shoving her down onto the mattress, pulling and yanking at his own clothes. He likes to have as much skin touching skin as possible, she's noticed.

She can always beg. She can always cry and say please, please, please...

He likes it that way. He likes it when she's at her most vulnerable like this. She's melting, she feels, burning.

All she can hear is him panting and her own crying. Once more he bends down to lick a fresh tear from her cheek. Each time he tastes her skin, she feels a part of her soul die.

She doesn't know how many pieces are left, but she hopes to run out soon.

He's done now. It's time for her to clean up and get her reward.

"Good girl."

She doesn't feel good.

He gets ready to leave, mouthing some song she can't recognize. She feels at least one shred of hope that she may rest tonight. Maybe.

She feels her shoulders drop just a little as he exits the room. He isn't gone yet, but he's not in what little she has to call space anymore. The key clanks against the door as it locks, a clinking sound her heart stopped at. He grins at her, sliding the plate across the floor and waiting for her to take a bite before he left.

Today it was actually decent, blueberries... A fruit salad. She couldn't pass that up no matter how much pain she was in. He wanted to treat her some days, but she knew he was always guessing. Perhaps he had taken notice of her reluctance to finish whatever meat was placed in front of her. Either way, she could consider this a victory for today.

The pain, though. It was so distracting, she didn't quite get to indulge in just this one little joy he had given her. She wouldn't look forward to this kindness again for some time, and she didn't want to get into a habit of doing so. She wasn't anything but a prisoner.

She pushes the plate into a corner when she's finished her treat, content to lay on her side and try her very best to find sleep. She had nothing else to do anyway.

She awakens once again to the sound of a door slamming and footsteps stomping down stairs. He's angry again. She starts to shake and sits herself up, ready for whatever he has to throw at her now.

It's a punch. And a kick. And a punch. And a slap. And a...

He beats her until there's blood in the floor, marvels at the sight and spits on her bruised body. He's made it abundantly clear that she's just as much his punching bag as she is his toy. She can take it, after all. She can generate an aura. He's got nothing to worry about, and so much of the time he goes as full force as he thinks he can with her, sometimes forgetting that she's actually quite delicately built.

He has absolutely no problem taking his anger out on her, and yet at times he's come to her weeping, telling her intimate things. Talking about his father, for one. She greets this with... pity. Of course, she doesn't pity the man himself, she's far beyond that. She pities the boy he used to be and nothing more. She wishes the worst upon the man he is today.

She lays awake that night, dreaming of escape. Of being reunited with her teammates. Of being able to rest without feeling like she was being watched. She wanted to sleep in Ruby's lap, read books with Blake, brush Yang's hair, pet Zwei...

But she was here. Here where he had her by the strings. Here where his word was law. She had no idea what went on outside, he never did talk about any of it. She was actually afraid that he might one day. Might let something slip to her ears.

Regardless, she stares at the wall in front of her, watching the moonlight glow on the stone. She's below ground, she can tell that much, but nothing more. Her window is too far up for her to reach and it's barred shut beside. She knows she has no hope of escape, and yet she clings to the idea still, hoping that fate may prove her wrong yet.

She slips up to lean on her hands, long white tresses sliding on the ground, and pulls herself up to her knees. She watches the moon from her cell, taking solace in the times it was in her sight. It made her feel calmer, broken as it was.

It made her think of Ruby.

That smile, that laugh... She would give anything to see it again. She supposed she was, in fact, giving everything already regardless. She could give no less, she had no choice.

She stands in the middle of the room, a hand stretched out as if to grab just one piece of the celestial body to keep with her in here, where the darkness bites so hard and the light burns.

She fails to find rest that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just another short little addition to the story. I've been playing around with the idea for awhile now and figured it wouldn't hurt to publish it.


	3. Mercy

He's got her held down, going hard and fast, as he usually does, unforgiving and quite plainly awful in all accounts. It hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts...

That's all she can think of, the pain. She doesn't dare think of anything else, he knows when she does. If she thinks she's doing it for someone else, he knows. If she thinks she's doing it to stay sane, he knows. He just knows. He never doesn't, it seems.

She feels utter defeat every time she has him on top of her, his hardness taking from her her own softness, as usual, she would say. He was never gentle, it barely seemed he knew what the word even meant. He made her bleed more often than not, pain blooming a garden in her guts. He had planted something in her, even though she had long since come to know he would never get her pregnant. One of the rare calms he had offered her in all of this time, even as short as it may have been. She just wanted to know she wasn't dying inside for no reason, that was all she wanted to know. That someone outside was looking for her. That she was being thought about. That was all. Please?

She knew it had to be so. Someone had to have been thinking of her, they couldn't all be dead, could they? Of course not, she knew in her heart, it was certain. No matter how much of a burden she was, someone had to have thought her worth carrying. Someone... Someone had to, right?

She didn't, that was for sure. She would never carry the weight that lay upon her shoulders, for it crushed both her chest and her heart in one fell swoop, as one would imagine it would. She felt no strength, no self-worth. No nothing.

She felt like disappearing. Like that would be the best thing for her, for her body, for he violated it on a daily basis, taking her hard upon a hard and cold floor she had never managed to become accustomed to. He knew this, for he pushed and pushed until her skin was scraped raw by the stone that lay beneath them at most times. He loves it when he draws new blood, for he loves the taste and he loves the way it makes her squirm.

"You're so cute when you're dying inside," or something like that.

She never cared to remember everything he whispered in her ear, it was so often vulgar and did nothing but disgust her in most cases. At times, he insisted upon giving her some compliment that struck her core quite wrong, typically about her hair, she had noticed. He loved that about her, how long and luscious her hair was, smooth and soft in all places. He especially loved to pull and yank it violently into place, deciding in each case where and how he saw fit, typically uncomfortable to painful to her, him preferring the latter.

Her hair being a focal point only made her hate it more. Never had she been allowed to even think of cutting it, lest she face punishment somehow and find herself in pain the likes of which she still hadn't known she could find. She never knew, somehow, that it could only ever get worse. There was always a new limit, always a new height to reach. She need only push, as was the usual, she had long since learned.

He was only ever pushing her further than she had ever hoped to go. More pain, more pain, more pain. He only ever brought her more pain. It hurt so much, so so much, it stuck with her each time, over and over and over again. He knew how to make it hurt. An assassin's son indeed, he was an expert when it came to torture, or so it would appear. He would never let up where she was considered as long as she was able to breathe, for he always stopped and simply took what he had come for when she lost consciousness, as she did quite a bit more often than she would have liked. He was good at that, taking just enough of her air to take her down without taking her out.

Sometimes he brings down wine, something she's familiar with. It hurts, sure, but it makes her feel better in these times. The pain is unbearable with him at times, and so she welcomes the numbness that being drunk brings.

He tells her how she begs him to go harder, harder, harder when he gives it to her. She loves it when he gives it to her, but he doesn't mean the wine when he says it. He means... Well, nevermind what he means. The point is, he's manipulating her and she knows very well what he's doing. Trying to trick her into thinking she could even possibly ever like what he gives her, how despicable, she always thought, no matter how much time happened to pass. She would never think otherwise, of course.

He gives her the scariest faces, even when she's drunk. Anger the likes of which she's never seen before, as if he hopes to shatter her into millions of pieces all in one shot. He could, she thinks. He very well could. He is never kind in the slightest sense of the word, after all. The more it hurts, the better to him. It fills his chest with a sense of pride and it swells and swells until even she can see it clearly. He wants to press her into the ground with it. Crush her. Like some kind of ecstatic dream of his that he made come true as frequently as he so pleased. She had seen that look of pure ecstasy on his face, after all, when he did so.

He loved nothing more than to put her down, onto her knees both metaphorically and physically, the latter of which being much, much more satisfying for him. See, when she was on her knees, she knew her place. She knew she would either obey him now or later, later coming with much, much more pain than now. Drawing blood from her lip was far more common than she had ever hoped it could be, even with how small the amount of damage was, that was real damage to her body, not her aura. He was hurting her and her soul at the same time, never one or the other. It always hurt inside and out, no matter what he did. And he always went for her physical form over her mental, far, far more results that way, he figured. And he was right.

She felt dead inside almost always. No, always indeed. He had made sure of that, too. Of course he had. He knew what he wanted of her, and he had already made her into the mold of what he wanted, at the very least. She would do whatever he wanted, when he wanted, how he wanted. Did he ever need to demonstrate? Occasionally.

Just the other night he had made her suck him off, telling her that her backtalk would always end up putting her mouth to good use indeed. If she had the energy to argue, she obviously had the energy to make herself useful, right? And what better way to be useful than to help him out just a little bit. She hopes it will tire him out every time, but it doesn't. He always wants to do at least one other thing before he leaves, whether that be a beating or sex, she never can tell.

He loves to force her into sex more than anything, it seems. It hurts, so he loves it. As long as it hurts, he'll always love it. He didn't even have to tell her as much, he had once again made his intentions very clear.

The very first day he had brought her here, he had thrown her down on the mattress and demanded she take her clothes off. She responded with a quick sassy remark and then obliged. He was... angry with this. Not the quick kind of angry, no, the kind of angry that comes with a punch to the face and a kick to the gut. He had her coughing up blood that night, but that wasn't the only place she was bleeding.

He had been her first time, after all. And her second. Third. Fourth... Fifth...

She didn't think she would ever have another partner at this point. Even if there was the chance, she wouldn't ever truly believe anyone would take it. She wouldn't let them anymore. Not with all of these marks, the permanent ones he had been so adamant to leave on her pale skin. He wanted anyone who saw them to know, and they certainly would. It would be hard not to.

In any case, she greatly preferred not to remember the first night and would rather the issue never be pushed. He hasn't been kind to her since they first became... acquainted, and he wouldn't start now, she knew. It was pointless to even think to dwell on the idea, one as simple and pointless as that. She didn't want him to. Not after all of this evil he had put her through. Nothing good would come of it.

Ah, today he's happy. He comes in with a bag, hidden behind his back, he doesn't want her to see. She curls up, hiding her chest in her knees and looks to his face, trying to read for signs of... well, whatever he could be planning.

"I have a gift for you today," he says.

Another one? What's she going to have to do this time?

He sits himself down in front of the bars, one leg pointed towards her in a surprisingly threatening manner. He's posturing, ridiculous as it may look. He slides the bag across the room, a plastic sound. A cup?

She intercepts, the catch being shakey and a bit meek, all things considered. She opens it reluctantly, earning a glare from his direction. He doesn't like it when she seems to refuse his gifts, even if she hasn't said anything, just the way she looks at it.

Ice cream.

She can't hide her surprise, he's gotten her one of her favorite things.

"Everybody loves ice cream," he laughs and relaxed against the bars, "Go ahead, dig in."

She doesn't waste any time obeying this order. It's been so long since she had something so pleasant. It's been since Ruby... since Ruby... Ruby...

No, she couldn't think like that or she'd cry. If he saw her cry, he'd come in. She didn't want him to come in. He'd hurt her if he came in, so she sits and makes a face, the tear escaping from her eye played off as part of a bad brain freeze. Or something, she thought. But it would be just that one, she promised herself.

He sat and watched as she ate the whole thing slowly, her being grateful that he had at least provided her with a spoon. He talked incessantly about... well, something. She wasn't paying attention, only nodding and humming an affirmative every minute or so. He was content with this, apparently, as he gave it no mind.

Hand on his cheek, he talked far after she had finished her treat, much to her surprise. He had never confided in her so much. She could do nothing but stare at him as he talked, a sign that normally would have earned her either a slap or... or...

Hm.

When he's finally done talking, he's almost fast asleep. He bids her a good night for some reason, and he's off up the stairs. She's grateful for the silence, and is finally able to get some sleep after three days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time just seems to blend together sometimes.


	4. Joy

He's angry. He's so angry.

He doesn't know why.

He never knows why.

But today, the day went just fine. He's angry at nothing, that's just how it is. He wants something to be angry about right now, and he knows she'll give him one. Whether it be silence or defiance, she knows now that every action, every thought, every little thing she does, it all could be another reason she deserves what he gives her. Tonight, he's looking forward to seeing what that is.

He descends the stairs into the dungeon he keeps her in, stopping in the middle of the stone floor to take in the sight of his princess in her cage. The cage she has no choice but to call home.

She says nothing. Looks at nothing. Just... nothing. He hopes to fix that soon.

"How are we doing tonight, pet?"

She says nothing.

He smiles, slamming his arm against the bars and rattling the metal that kept her confined.

"I asked you a question."

She gulps down her fear, answering, "I'm fine. Everything is... Everything is fine..."

"Good," he says, taking off a glove and reaching into his pocket, producing a small key. The only thing that kept her from leaving this place. He removes the other and tosses them aside for the time being, working on taking off his jacket. He's covered in sweat from the day. He smells just a bit like blood, dried patches standing out against the silvery color of his jacket. It was a new one. Expensive, he'd bought it with blood money.

No matter what he did to her, he would never kill her, but he would kill anyone he was payed to without thinking twice. He couldn't wait to see the faunus and the blond bitch again, he'd make her watch him kill them. Slowly, slowly... He didn't want to get too excited every time it came to her. Always got sloppy, couldn't make the best of it.

Every day he reminds her of her partner's demise. Every day he tells her how good it felt to see the life leave her eyes. He would never get enough of seeing that sight. He lived to kill, that was his purpose. To fight. To take.

And she made him want to take even more. The life wasn't leaving her eyes, it was feeding a fire that just wouldn't die out. Everything he did to her, everything he said, she would remember. He would make sure of that. Make her remember her place when need be.

She was just a toy.

He throws the cage open and steps inside, slamming it tight behind him. He doesn't have to, he just likes the way it makes her jump. She's still not looking at him. It quickly gets on his nerves, so he kneels down in front of her and forces her chin up.

"Look at me."

She follows his command silently, her breath going still as her eyes met his. He loves it. He loves that sound she makes when she knows she's in for it.

He starts to get excited. What shall he do first? Beat her? Touch her? She isn't shaking enough to touch her yet and he doesn't want her too messed up to feel it either. He wants her begging him for mercy again, not broken, but not strong. Her will and that Schnee pride still wouldn't let him take that part of her. He counted on the fact that it never would.

He smiles at her again, innocently. Like one would smile at a lover, sweetly. And then he strikes, a backhand across her face. He's on top of her within seconds, not holding back in the slightest. Her blood tastes so sweet...

When she can't see out of her right eye, he's decided it's time to fuck her. He's not done hitting her, no, but he's done waiting.

It lasts so much longer than she wants it to, just not long enough for him. He's made her feel empty enough, he figures, for now. He loves seeing her like this, bloody and bruised, eyes distant and far off. It almost gets him fired up again. Almost.

He's tired now. He feels content, she's close to passing out. He likes it. He mumbles something, making himself laugh, though she didn't hear him and he quickly forgot what it was that he'd even said.

He leaves her with a small bucket of water and a worn out rag.


	5. Victory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've said it before, but please take care of yourselves.

A small victory!

He's upgraded her cell, a gift, he said. Whether it was a gift or not, she didn't care. She was just happy to have something other than cold, hard stone to rest her head on at night. It wasn't much, but it was more than she had.

Still underground, just in a different corner of... whatever this place was. A small table in the center of the room, a small and beaten up old bed in the corner... How homey, she thought. Not really, it was just something she had to tell herself to stay sane. The floor here was made of stone still, just far smoother than the ones she had become acquainted with.

Still her only view was the same as before - a dark, stone room with nothing else in it but a bench on the opposite side. The room divided in half by the bars that kept her confined. The wooden stairs leading up the stairs were to the right of the bars, just beyond reach, reminding her each time she sees the material that she's come to hate the sound of footsteps descending them. From what she could tell, the door was large and heavy metal.

Not a day goes by where he hasn't visited her at least once in a day's time. He's made it a point to try to come in twice daily. Each time is the same - a beating and... well, what he calls "quality time".

She hates it. Can't stand it. He's never gentle with her, never. It almost seems he doesn't know the meaning of the word, actually. He's told her of his childhood, ugly as it was, it was no excuse to hurt her so. She couldn't let herself forget that. She would never let herself forget that. She wouldn't let herself feel sorry for him. Never.

He would never take that from her.

Despite this, he seems so determined to try, practically crushing her windpipe and nearly breaking bones at times. She's afraid that one day it won't just be "nearly" anymore.

She's so afraid.

There isn't anything he can do to her that he hasn't already, she thinks, and then he proves her wrong every time.

Up against the wall with him huffing against the soft skin of her neck, she's given up crying this time around. He's licking at some blood he's drawn, loudly, painfully. He knows how to make it hurt, twisting the wound and damaging her pride in the process.

"You taste so sweet."

He shoves her down on the bed, determined to take what pride she had tonight. She's used to it, can't be afraid by now, and yet she is.

It hurts.

He doesn't pay her whining and begging any mind. In fact, it seems he likes it that way. When he gets tired of listening to her or she starts to scream, he'll take whatever fabric he can find and shove it in her mouth. If he can't find anything, he uses himself to silence her. A kiss, a hand, a...

It hurts.

He's so loud. So greedy. She's trying so hard to stop her tears, and yet they fall. They burn her skin on the way down, covered in cuts, scrapes, and bruises as it is. Today there's a large cut across her cheek, still oozing. She worries that it'll leave a scar. Does it matter if it does?

It hurts.

She hates the feeling of him... finishing... inside of her. She'd been so unfamiliar with the very concept, she's embarrassed to even think of the words she could use to describe what he does to her. Of all the things he did to her, she hated that warm feeling the most. He liked making her swallow it. Painting her skin with it. It made her feel sick.

And there it was. He's done. She hopes.

He stays there on top of her for far too long, simply panting and staring off into the air. The discomfort is unbearable, the feeling of him inside of her still not gone. Even long after they're done, she still feels it. She always feels it.

He's given her a room to shower in, given the proper supervision. Usually the supervision being himself. He drags her in and throws her down on the cold, hard ceramic tiling.

"Hurry up. Dress. Off."

She wastes no time stripping herself of her bloody rags, once white, now red. She welcomes the water. The warmth. He doesn't let her wear much. What would she need? It isn't like she's going anywhere.

"Get to it."

She's on top of it immediately, the chill of the water sending a shiver down her spine as it warmed up. Still, even then she was grateful. It wasn't much, but it made things so much less unbearable.

She relaxes just a little bit there in the steam, letting the water wash over her and take her somewhere else. The showers at Beacon were somewhat like this too, just a large room built for rinsing and washing off. She wonders if this is common. In the meantime, the aroma of soap threatens her with intoxication, it's just so good. Sweet, like some of the candies that Ruby loved so much. Strawberry... Citrus... It doesn't feel like it suits her, but he's simply brought her what he could find first. It used to be a simple white bar that smelled of... nothing. Just soap. Even that was a miracle, though.

She's getting lost in the bubbles and the feeling of the water massaging her back when she takes notice.

He's watching her silently. She knows that look. Hunger. Desire. He wants to take her again, fuck her here of all places. And yet he doesn't. She is grateful to fate.

After all, it was the little victories that made life less miserable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I"ll actually come up with a proper ending for this one, so it would be safe to expect at least a bit more.


	6. Branding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, please take care of yourselves and do not read this if this sort of content harms you in some way.

She lays silent on the bed, staring at the wall and tracing the cracks in the stone with her finger. It may seem dull, but this was one of the only forms of stimulation she could find in here, other than imagining her teammates sitting there across from her on the bench, talking to her.

She imagines that they tell her it's okay sometimes. That she's doing what she must to survive. That she is loved and that they're coming to save her.

Other times, she imagines that they're scolding her, telling her that she's weak, useless. That she let this happen and she deserves every bit of pain he inflicts for abandoning them and letting them die. She didn't know if Blake and Yang were still alive, but she assumed they would eventually meet the same fate as Ruby.

Soon enough, she would really be alone with their ghosts.

She swears Ruby stays around the longest. She apologizes profusely, and yet she never says anything. The others sting her heart with their words whether they be good or bad, but Ruby says nothing. Just stares blankly. There is no light in her eyes, and it almost feels like she stares through her sometimes.

It had to be her.

She's crying now, thinking about her partner with a painful fondness that burns deep down. Did she let this happen? Couldn't she have done something? Anything? Didn't she promise to protect her? Didn't she?

Her thoughts are interrupted by the clanking sound of her cell opening. She didn't even hear him come downstairs let alone unlock it.

He sees her tears and smiles.

"What are we thinking about, pet?"

She knows he's aware, just testing to see what he'll beat her for today - a lie or the truth.

"Ruby... I was thinking about Ruby."

"Oh yeah," he chuckles, "Did I ever tell you? I was so hard after I blew her to smithereens..."

He approaches her now, taking off his jacket and letting it fall to the floor, undoing his shirt as it settled.

"I wanted to just go into the woods and jack it," he gestured lewdly, "But then I heard they'd found a pretty little snowflake hiding in the brush."

He gently strokes her cheek, pushing messy hair out of her face and behind her cheek.

"You know, I almost thought they wouldn't let me have you."

He takes a fistful of her hair roughly.

"So I had to take what I wanted, didn't I? You can't blame me for that. For wanting you. How could I resist that face?"

Twisted in pain, she closes her eyes again, her hands up on his chest, pushing against him to no avail as he gets closer and closer, pushing her down against the bed.

Not again. Not right now.

A surge of bravery, she reaches out and claws at his face, enough to draw blood.

He hisses, angry.

A mistake.

She's greeted by a punch in the face, he has to pull himself back to stop himself from hitting her again. Instead, he takes her neck in one hand and squeezes.

"That's what I like about you, Weiss," her name on his lips fuels a fire in her heart, "You just won't go down without a fight."

She's losing air quickly, unable to take even the shakiest breath in and turning blue. He releases his grip ever so slightly, allowing her just one long breath.

"Come on, is that it? You don't have anything else in you?"

Her arms go limp as she begins to lose consciousness.

"Pathetic."

He reaches under the shift he's allowed her, allowing her to breathe again. She has to feel what he's about to do to her.

He gropes her roughly with one hand, pushing down on her hip with the other. He takes her leg in one hand and shoves it out of his way. She's shaking again.

"Whatever," he smiles down at her, "I'm still thinking about Ruby."

All she can do is hope that he's quick today, has something else to do. But he doesn't. He's had a productive day it seems. He's not quite so angry today, so he's somewhat more gentle with her than she expected. He's focusing on making her make noise, causing her great discomfort. He takes it slow, teasing her most intimate places before he starts to toy with her. She can't help it, can't keep her voice down. She doesn't like it.

"Please," she begs through short breaths, "Stop..."

"What was that, pet?"

He's suddenly inside of her, that feeling she could never get used to spreading out again.

It hurts.

She can't hold down a loud whimper, this excites him.

"More," he says, "I want to hear more of that..."

He's losing himself again. Losing himself in her pain, reveling in it. He wants to see blood again. He likes watching her bleed.

Suddenly he's stabbed a knife on the bed next to her head, cutting just a single lock of hair. She can't sit still. He came prepared. He holds her down by her neck again, moving the knife to her collarbone and licking his lips, just barely drawing blood. She hisses.

"I think you need to learn a lesson, pet."

Her blood freezes in her veins. He's carved hearts and things on her skin here and there, one on her back mostly. She prepares herself for the knife to start slicing again, eyes clenched shut and trying to still her shaking nerves.

"This'll only hurt a little..."

It feels like it lasts for hours, he's taking his time again. He wants to see her squirm as he slowly carves... something into her skin. She doesn't know what it is, it just burns. He's got a hand over her mouth now. She didn't even realize she was screaming, how loud she was.

He's making it last. Just warming himself up, that's all.

When he's done, he sits back, admiring his work. She's too scared to look down, but he scolds her for this. She has to force herself to look, eyes barely able to focus.

MERCURY

She cries. She belongs to him, if she didn't know that before, she certainly did now. He wiped the blood away, choosing to lap it up when more came in it's place. It stings, then burns. She would never understand his taste for blood, and she would never question it either. She didn't want a demonstration no matter what the reason was.

After he's fucked her, he's done. Decided not to beat her tonight, much to her delight, though she supposed the branding was enough.

He didn't give her a mirror, though there was a large one in the bathroom. She sat still, fingers tracing the skin he had broken. He'd left her a bucket of water and a regular cloth to clean herself up. At least it wasn't the old ratty one he'd usually left her.

She silently took the cloth and soaked it, moving it up to her chest where it stung at her wounds. She had no other way of getting clean tonight, she realized.

She decides to take to washing herself with the cloth, but instead decides to rinse herself and pours the bucket over her head.

She's too cold to sleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for following along with this experiment! I write more in my free time, so updates might be spotty here and there, but there are more to come. Think of it as more of an anthology than a storyline.


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